Turn sixteen

The Tale of the Friendly Termite

This story begins as any other: A loving father and mother welcome a new life into the world. With it comes screaming cries and dirty floors. Life was grand for the family, even with having to share the tight cottage with not only his family, but hers as well. Eighteen people lived in the two-roomed abode. That didn't include the bos or hens that would have to come in during a frightful storm, either. Needless to say, it was rather thick...

Now, you may be asking yourself, 'What does any of this have to do with a termite?!' Well, I'll tell you, but only in a moment. First, we must evaluate the socio-economic factors that... No, no, sorry. That is simply too thick. Right, then. Here we are. A cottage made of wood and mud and not a small amount of fecal matter. From the corner, horrified, a termite watches as his beloved creation is marred and desecrated by the humans and their unwanted animals.

Clenching his fists in unabated anger, the termite turned and slowly walked away. Many days passed by, his family grew concerned with the incoherent ramblings that carried long into the night. Until, finally, they stopped. He returned to his work in the wood mill, he acknowledged his wife and their dozens of children with a grateful smile each morning, and he would join them at their perfectly chewed table each night for dinner. All was well in the world of the termite clan, and all was well in the human's household... For the time...

Nights turned to days, days to weeks, weeks to months... It would appear the termite had let go of his anger. Appearances can be deceiving. Anger is best when treated like steel: hammered and folded, heated and repeated, cooled and sharpened. In time, it becomes a deadly weapon.

Early one morning, the termite rose from his bed; leaving behind his wife and children, to go and meet in secret with the mass of termites he had enlisted to help him deliver retribution. Shoulder to shoulder, the termites marched from their mounds and into the home of the yet sleeping humans. Up the walls they climbed, moving into the planned positions. Once in place, the signal was given to chew. Termite after termite chomped down on the wood before them, tearing into the grey surface to reveal the soft tones of brown beneath. It did not take long for their task to be accomplished, and just as quickly as they appeared - they were gone.

It was the baby that first noticed something different. Sitting there, in the pile of refuse now formed into a makeshift chair, staring at the wall she seemed confused... or perhaps she simply had a movement, further adding to the chair's distinct color and smell.

Upon the wall was chewed in neat letters, "Please clean up the mess, this house wreaks." When the father woke to the soft gurgling laughs of the dirty child in the next room, he roused himself from slumber and carried heavily to her. Catching the polite message, he rolled his eyes and grabbed a handful of fresh bos dung to wipe over the words.

The termite watched from his corner, hanging his head in defeat. It would come to war, he knew it. Buzzing his wings, he called the masses of termites forth to take control of the filth-ridden cottage. Imagine, termites with saddles riding animals thousands of times larger their own bodies! Well, with determination, anything is possible...

Of course, this would have been wonderful, had a great wave not come crashing down upon the cottage: destroying everything within.